


The Grass is Always Greener

by ChronicCatalina



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU - girls in the glade, Angst, Banter, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Follows the movie, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Sarcasm, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, i love the gladers with all my heart, i've been working on this for years, set a little before TMR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicCatalina/pseuds/ChronicCatalina
Summary: One girl per dozen kids makes for an unequal but bearable balance in the Glade, a place that Cleo makes the best of by sewing up wounds and cracking sharp wit. But even a no-nonsense attitude can't stop her heart from being captured by a fellow Glader. And as their world is eventually turned upside down, they're pushed to their limits to keep the ragtag group alive.
Relationships: Newt (Maze Runner)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. An Arm and a Leg

If the Gladers were the prayin' type, they'd be prayin' for some wind.

Or some rain, or maybe just a giant cloud. Something, _anything_ to fend off the shucking sun and its shucking rays of heat.

It made the air hot and heavy, and not in a good way. More stale, settling uncomfortably in throats and crawling slowly over cotton-covered back muscles. That must've been what possessed the slicers to come up with yet another dumb game to play while they worked.

At least, that was Cleo's theory. Because more than a few fingers and arms were cut open while they tested who could slice the hardest.

That made the med-jack hut the most popular spot in the Glade as the workday drew to a close. Cleo was stationed farthest left inside the hut, perched on a stool while a stocky guy sat on the cot in front of her. Blood was caked under her fingernail stubs and there were grooves on her index finger from wrapping and unwrapping thread.

"You're golden, send the next one in." She smacked her patient’s good shoulder as he headed out into the late afternoon heat.

A sheepish Winston ducked inside, hand clamped over his forearm. He hadn't made it two steps before Jeff's head snapped up from his work and he barked, "Yo, these are all _your_ shanks makin' a mess in here."

Clint, Keeper of the med-jacks, joined in. "Yeah, Winston. Do I have to start amputatin' or something?"

Winston waved them off and thumped down in front of Cleo. "You gonna give me klunk about this, too?"

"Now why ever would you think _that_?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm as sharp as the alcohol she was dabbing into his open wound. "It's not like we have to keep a runnin' count of how many slicers per week have to be patched up or anything."

A smile tugged at his lips before dragging back downward when the needle first pulled through his skin. Cleo's breathing slowed and her eyes narrowed on the stitching in front of her. There was sweat dampening her forehead and what felt like a fly flitting at the base of her neck, but nothing serious enough to halt the procedure.

A few strong knocks suddenly rattled the door. 

"I told you, there's a line and you'll just have to wait in it!" Clint called to whatever kid outside was feeling impatient.

It was Alby's head that popped in, however, and he surveyed the scene with a cocked brow. "How are things in here?"

"Peachy." Cleo set down the threaded needle before rolling her shoulders back to work out the kinks. "Frypan may have had a bit more blood to cook out of the meat, but I think everyone will make it."

Alby turned to Jeff and his patient, the pale Greenie named Arnie. "Even you got in on it, Greenie?"

Arnie nodded, looking down to his four bandaged fingers. "I can't be the only one that's gotten carried away before, right?"

"Look at your company. It's not new. Some of these guys are in here almost every day." Even a stern glance at Winston couldn't hide the teasing smile in Alby's eyes. "And Clint, soon as everybody's done, food's being served."

At the mention of dinner, Cleo's stomach rumbled and Jeff let out an excited holler. The few remaining boys had more minor injuries and they were efficiently ushered in and out, clean and bandaged and ready to devour Frypan's layout.

Cleo sat quiet for a second once the last slicer was gone, then broke a wide grin at Clint and Jeff. "I'd say we did a bang-up job, boys."

"I'm sure they'll throw us a parade one of these days," Jeff replied.

Cleo shook her head and looked down to survey her own damage. The maroon hue of her shirt absorbed bloodstains well, making her seem cleaner than she actually was. Some fluids were fresher and sat in slick patches along her arms, while others had dried and left the shirt material sticking to her skin as she stretched this way and that to put away medical supplies.

By the time the hut was properly reorganized, Clint and Jeff were tearing out the door to go join the long line of boys for food. Cleo was a few paces behind them, but veered the opposite direction toward the showers at the edge of the forest.

The sky was still cloudless as far as the eye could see over the trees and over those _damned_ walls. Even after ten months in the Glade, there were still moments when Cleo would be jolted by the sight of their trap. She refused to imagine what it was like for those who'd been there for most of the three years that Gladers had been sent up.

As a breeze was finally brushing against Cleo's skin, the showers came into view and a telltale bra was already hung over one of the curtains. The sound of running water was a siren's song that drew her into a jog.

"Eliza, how's it feel?" Cleo's voice was raised to be heard from yards away.

"Amazing! Thought I was going to melt out there today," the Glade's other female called. "And what took you so long to get over here? I was startin' to think I'd washed your towel for nothing."

Cleo had barely made it into the adjoining stall before she was yanking her shirt over her head and a whirlwind of the rest of her clothes followed suit. Her fingers worked to loosen her dark curls from their daily braid as she answered, "The slicers were restless again today and so Clint, Jeff, and I were patchin' up for a solid couple hours."

"I'm sure Alby had a field day with that one." There was a small smile evident in Eliza's voice.

Standing as one of the taller heads in the Glade, Eliza was the second to come out of the box after Alby and they were inseparable. They were the informal Glader parents, the ones to have paved an easier way for the rest. And though she was humble about the role, Eliza was that perfectly motherly image – blonde, sweet, and a hell of a track-hoe.

"Surprisingly, Alby was cool with it. Now it's just gettin' to be funny." Cleo sighed as the streams of water spilled over her warm amber skin. Her off-duty shower was about as close to a spa day as she could get.

Eliza hummed a note of discontent. "I just wish funny didn't leave scratches."

Cleo lathered down her arms with the rough soap and let the topic drop; worriers will worry, after all. Soon the small talk resumed and kept the women occupied as they washed away the day's heat and filth. Eliza's shower shut off a beat before Cleo's and left them wrapped in the hushed sounds of the Glade welcoming its evening temperatures.

With pants tucked in untied boots and a shirt hanging loosely on her frame, Cleo followed the blonde across the meadow toward dinner and they strolled past rows of boys toward the serving table up front.

"My last two!" Frypan called, twirling the ladle with a bright smile. "Hope you liked that soup from lunch, ladies, 'cause here it is again."

Eliza's head bobbed with appreciation. "It'll be delicious all over again, Frypan. Thanks." She took her bowl and nestled herself next to Alby at the far right of all the Gladers.

"Heard you got busy with a few slicers today, Cleo," Frypan commented nonchalantly while pouring up her meal, and the slopper behind him snorted with laughter.

"Busy keepin' them _alive_ , shuckface. Maybe I shoulda let 'em bleed a little more, teach 'em a lesson." She cracked a smile at Frypan's loud laugh and he waved her off.

Cleo wriggled herself a space on the bench between Jeff and the slicer next to him. Just before shoving a spoonful into her mouth, she quipped, "How can I eat with y'all smellin' like a pig sty?"

Jeff raised his eyebrows, unamused. "And you think a shower made you smell like a damn princess?"

She shrugged off his taunt and propped her elbows up on the rough table. Chewing contentedly, she listened in to a few other surrounding conversations until a tap on her arm brought her attention back to Jeff's smug face.

"I totally won today, by the way."

Cleo straightened and barked out a laugh. "No way! Shut your lyin' mouth."

The med-jack hut was no stranger to a little healthy competition. On days like the one they just finished, Jeff and Cleo would keep a strict tally of the number of Gladers they each sewed up.

Jeff snickered at her. "I did a few extras right at the end, not to mention Abe's shoulder took you awhile."

"Clint!" Cleo slapped her arm pleadingly across the table toward the guy charged with keeping the rivalry honest. "C'mon, what really happened?"

Clint barely kept a straight face at her desperation. "Jeff won fair and square. Beat ya by two."

Both boys laughed as Cleo cleared her throat and jutted her chin up. Then a thought pranced its way across her mind and she gave Jeff a haughty side-eye.

"But you still haven't beat my overall one-day record."

" _Shuck_ , Cleo! That was a stroke of bad luck that my thread was tangled in three different spots. And it was back when you were still our Greenie!" Jeff stood as he grumbled, but still picked up Cleo's empty bowl to bring to the kitchen along with his.

She gulped water from her tin cup and muttered to Clint, "Never letting that one go."

***

The long shadows disappeared from the treeline as darkness fell. It could only cool off so much after the sweltering daytime, remaining warm enough to invite the entire arsenal of insects that the Glade had to offer. People were constantly pausing from their evening hobbies to swat left and right at the buzzing.

Cleo was content sitting cross-legged at the edge of the wide meadow, picking apart a handful of flowers. A few guys sharpened knives in another circle. Frypan thumped rhythmically in the dirt to lend a little background music that Cleo found herself swaying to. Winston was leaned against the homestead a few feet away, carving at yet another piece of wood under the lantern light. He swore he'd start selling the little figurines one day. 

Maybe when they got _out_.

One by one the Gladers dropped off toward the homestead's promise of sleep, and even Cleo had stood to brush off her pants by the time Alby approached with another lantern, flanked by Eliza and Newt.

"Alright stragglers," Alby drawled and dipped his head toward the homestead, "let's head on."

The usual background noise of horrid metal-on-metal creaking echoed from the maze just as Newt filed in line to walk behind Cleo, the warmth of the lantern in his hand spreading across her back.

"Zart's threatening to go streaking tomorrow if it's as bloody hot as it was today."

Cleo laughed, sweeping her dark mane over one shoulder to look behind her. "Not the mental picture I wanted."

Newt's smirk peered through the shadows as they entered the homestead but he stayed right beside her. "Always glad to help."

"Better Zart lose his clothes than more shank slicers lose fingers,” she mused. “I'll have Winston's head next time."

"Can't tell me you don't love it," he countered. "You'd rather have 'em lined up outside than no one at all."

Cleo glared at him, prideful as always, but he was right. Newt always called out her klunk when he saw it.

"G'night, Newt." Her tired voice couldn't hide the smile behind it.

He tugged on one of her curls. "Night, Cleo."

The breathable fabric of her hammock welcomed Cleo as she toed off her boots and swung into it. It took a few minutes for the roomful of drowsy Gladers to settle and resettle themselves, but she had drifted into the clutches of sleep before the last lantern was out.


	2. Fit as a Fiddle

Morning in the Glade held its own kind of charm. The few cattle lowed softly under the cotton candy sky as the sun just started to rise over the maze walls. Cleo was one of the few always up early, mostly amongst the runners. And Alby, of course.

Minho could already be seen dashing back and forth with the other runners for a morning warm-up. Cleo waved when they crossed her path, and he tipped a nod between calls of, "C'mon shanks, keep up!"

Cleo waited for Eliza behind the kitchen with boots laced tightly as her hamstrings. The girls flew through a few stretches before Cleo straightened and set her jaw.

"I'm game if you are. Let's roll."

And off they went. First a light jog through patches of damp weeds and then they sped up, any imperfections in the maze wall smoothing into a blur of gray stone. Cleo silently led the way by two paces.

Four laps was their typical routine. It kept the two women agile and did what coffee couldn't – wake you up without waiting for boiling water and steeping grinds.

Cleo hurdled the creek in the woods with a breathless smile. Curls flooded her vision as she landed and she tossed her head to get them out of the way. They eventually made it out of the woods and onto a clearer path, where they skidded into a sharp turn at the next wall. Cleo swiped a fist across her temple and shook off the sweat. She found the run freeing, even so close to the walls of the Glade. 

Maybe she wouldn't always have to run that same dirt trail.

"Have fun, ladies," Minho called from the entrance to the maze where the runners were poised to enter for the day. Cleo swung a wide wave.

Eliza was the one to answer. "Of course. Y'all do the same!"

The entrance was clear by the time the women darted by and they slowed down to gaze into the mysterious passageway. Eliza would always claim getting chills at the sight. Cleo blamed a breeze.

The girls' rapid pace brought them racing toward the collection of Gladers' names carved into the wall, and Cleo's mouth set into a reverent line. She stuck out a calloused hand and let it drag across one particular name at the outer edges of the grouping.

_JOAN_

Whoever those damn Creators were, they had a lot to learn about fractions. One girl in every dozen Gladers was not equal, if that was the goal. Eliza was after Alby and she didn't see another female face for a year. Then up came Joan.

Fiery had been the only way to describe her, to be honest. Her hair, her energy, she even liked her food spicy. Minho always said it only took one sprint to know she'd be an excellent runner. And maybe the fact that he and Joan would do more than just _running_ in the maze had a bit to do with it, too.

If Eliza was a gentle mother when Cleo arrived, then Joan was the crazy aunt. Cleo adored the redhead and Joan did her part to teach Cleo the ropes about anything they could get their hands on.

Until a month and a half into Cleo's time in the Glade, when Joan didn't come back from the maze one silent afternoon.

It was Cleo's first death to cope with. She dealt with the loss any way she could — from sleepless nights to angry outbursts — and Newt was with her through it all, keeping her company for many nights with a low and steady voice of reason as she sat outside the homestead staring at the vile walls. It was real good of him to do, making sure she didn't get too reckless.

And so the Glade was cut back to two girls. The pain was dealt with and pushed away, but it didn't mean that Cleo and Eliza couldn't let their fingers brush over her etching each morning.

After the girls' run and cool down and the rest of the Glade had woken up, breakfast was served and eaten in a matter of minutes. Since Cleo wasn't slated for dish duty, she trotted away to the comfort of the med-jack hut.

Clint whirled to face her at the creak of the door opening, eyebrows reaching upwards. Definitely a deer in headlights.

Cleo tossed him a laugh. "Relax. I ain't tattlin' on the extra biscuit you grabbed."

"Slim it. Aren't you fielder today?"

"Yes, sir."

Cleo gave a mock salute before yanking a large leather satchel off of the wall behind her. The bag held extra med supplies for whichever of the med-jacks that day was the "fielder" – walking out and about through the Glade's fields, checking up on stitches and serving as first responder to any new injuries.

Cleo shouldered the bag as Jeff backed into the hut, yelling at someone aways off. 

"Hey man, your shank self had better clam up, or you'll be gettin' it later!" He turned once the door had shut and was met with Clint and Cleo's expectant gazes. "I was just messin' with Winston, no need for starin'."

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving anyway,” Cleo quipped as she pulled her hair into a high ponytail.

"I think you like being fielder too much." Jeff wagged a finger. "You look a bit too happy to be leavin' our wonderful company."

She flipped both boys a different finger with a sweet smile. "Well, somebody's gotta take our show on the road."

The woods were Cleo's first destination. A little past the deadheads were the most fertile grounds of the whole shaded part of the Glade, where the flowers and herbs not cultivated by the track-hoes sprouted. She stepped gingerly around the area, petting fuzzy leaves and inhaling the strikingly citrus scent of a couple orange flowers.

Jeff was right, being outside held that much more appeal. More socializing, more sunshine, more of a challenge if a new injury popped up. What more could a girl want?

Soon she headed back out to the open field where less bugs were around to gnaw at her bare arms. A breeze carried sharp laughter to her ears and she turned to find it coming from the gardens. Newt, to be exact. 

He looked up when she approached, a wide grin still lingering on his mouth from the last joke told.

"It's bright enough out here already, Cleo. You trying to add more sunshine to it?"

She rolled her eyes before glancing at her left shoulder. It was true, the cut of her tank top revealed a tattoo spiraling out from the top of her shoulder – a large sun in the darkest gold ink with the beams stretching a few inches in each direction. It wasn't her only tattoo, either; an intricate vine of purple flowers wound down the right side of her ribs and the outline of a mountain range sat at the top of both thighs.

But the sun on her shoulder was more often seen, and Newt never failed to tease her about it.

"Where do they teach ya to be so _shuckin'_ hilarious?" Cleo fished a water bottle out of the satchel, the liquid sliding smoothly down the desert of her throat. "And it's funny you're talkin', you've got skin paler than mine shining out here!"

Newt paused shoveling for a moment to drag his hair out of his eyes. "Thanks for your worry but I'm pretty sure it's Zart who's more likely to get sunburned."

"I heard that," Zart protested from a few rows away.

Cleo muttered, "I'm just glad you decided to keep your clothes on."

Newt's mouth spread wide again as he laughed. "You and me both. I'd be headin' to you for something to fix my blindness with."

"Speakin' of which, anybody need sewing up? Anybody hurt?" Cleo's raised voice was heard by the rest of the track-hoes. "I'm doing fielder rounds, so tell me now."

Eliza piped up from her crouched position of trimming plants. "But that wasn't an invitation to get reckless just ‘cause Cleo here could fix it."

There was a rumbled agreement of ‘no’ along with promises of not causing any injuries once she was gone. Cleo brushed at the longest strands of hair from her ponytail as she followed the yellowed grass leading away from the gardens.

The slicers were equally uneventful, save tightening a few bandages. Better than yesterday by a longshot.

But the remainder of her round was boring, too. Builders, bricknicks, baggers, everyone was checked by noon, all without so much as a scratch to disinfect or a bruise to ice. Everyone was checked except the runners, of course. They came trampling in at lunchtime, still sweating as they rushed toward the kitchen.

Runners were prideful; they only sought medical attention when there was an emergency, and even then sometimes not. Which meant gashes would fester, med-jacks would order a rest day or two, and Minho would yell at everyone involved.

Cleo found herself clawing through dense bodies to get to the front of the meal tables. It was her habit to be curious about the food being served, and as per usual Alby appeared with an answer for her.

"Meat tray today. Carrots, too," his deep voice rumbled. "Somebody musta let Ben choose the menu."

The tent over the tables didn’t completely block the sun, making Cleo squint to look up at his dark features. "They probably gave Frypan a lotta klunk after soup a third time."

"Speaking of repeating stuff, Cleo, I'd like to ya to do your rounds again. I heard a lotta roughhousin' from the builders right before food call."

"Sure thing. Mind if I add a few cartwheels or something fun? Kinda quiet last time."

“Whatever works.” He strode away after a reassuring squeeze to her arm.

But Cleo wasn’t left alone for long. The crowded tide of boys always washed another one to her side sooner or later. And this time it was sooner.

Newt bumped her shoulder to announce his presence. "Alby want a round two today?"

"Yeah, to check on the builders." Cleo's eyes traveled to those stocky boys at their table but turned back before she got to Gally. She didn’t like looking at him anyway. “Rowdy _slintheads_.”

"Ain't that the truth," Newt said, eyes crinkling in a smile. "And you could probably build a house just as fast as them with all that thread in the bag."

"I'll be takin' that as a compliment."

"Some of those escape me every now and then."

"Then try and escape _this_!" she cried.

Cleo flung herself around onto Newt's back and he caught her, just like he did every time. They laughed as he walked them to the back of the food line. From her proud vantage point she could see over more heads than normal and his tight grip on her legs kept it that way, even as she waved at some friends in the crowd.

But all good things must come to an end.

"Get a room!"

A taunt from one of the builders made Cleo scoff loudly but she slid off Newt’s back anyway. Shanks could make something out of nothing, especially when it came to a little physical affection.

Newt muttered, "Any chance you could sew a few mouths shut?"

"Soon as you say so, second-in-command."

***

The small bonfire was far from any of the Glade's wooden structures, especially the med-jack hut, but Cleo watched it closely all the same. You'd think the Creators would've sent up some sheetrock if they expected the Gladers to use fire so frequently. A large silver cooking pot landed in the dirt next to her and she looked up to see Frypan cross his arms.

"You sent Jeff to tell me ya needed to borrow one of my pots again? Don't ya have your own two legs and a mouth?"

"If I let him tend a fire on his own, we either wouldn't get one or half the Glade would burn down." She filled the pot with water and hung it on the bar just out of the reach of flames.

Frypan gently pushed her shoulder and cracked a grin. "Good that, just make sure ya clean it before it gets back to me. I don't wanna be tastin' none of that flower klunk next time I'm serving up stew."

Cleo promised she’d return it spotless and he left, leaving her to watch and wait for the water to boil. The med-jacks had abruptly run out of their most popular medicine just before dinner, much to her annoyance because she'd only been able to scarf down half a meal.

There were lingering grains of dirt on her palms from pulling up the distinctive purple flowers, which long ago she'd jokingly called _passionflower_ until the name stuck. Cleo had only been in the Glade about a week before curiosity had her picking the bright wildflowers from the meadows and studying them closely. It was the beginning of her reputation as an avid experimenter, and the passionflower sealed her fate as a med-jack.

The flower wasn't particularly beautiful or scented, but when the whole plant was boiled root to tip, it left behind an oil that in small doses served as a painkiller. Larger quantities could knock any Glader out cold.

Cleo was tossing the last flower into the pot when Jeff walked up. "How close are we to the oil being ready? Arnie just walked in, looks awful and says he's pretty achy."

"Alright, just tell the Greenie to hang on a few more minutes. It's almost done." She sighed in frustration. "And we've gotta tighten up on inventory, all three of us."

Jeff nodded. "Well, we're not med-jacks for our knack at keepin' klunk organized."

That made her grin as she gingerly pulled the waterlogged plants from the pot and wrung the desired oil from the petals. It filled three flasks full by the time she was done and she kicked just enough dirt onto the dying embers before jogging to the hut.

"Here you go, kid." Cleo gave the Greenie a small dosage while Jeff filled her in on the rest.

"Arnie here feels like he's runnin' a fever, on top of 'not feeling good', of course." He and Cleo shared a look before he continued. "I'm thinkin' twenty-four-hour bug."

Cleo nodded and grasped Arnie's shoulder. "I agree with Jeff, buddy. Go sleep it off, I'll let Alby know. If you get to feelin' too bad, I'll give you some more passionflower."

Arnie weakly smiled his thanks and plodded out of the hut. Cleo convinced herself it was pointless to reorganize the supply cabinet and better to simply stuff the oil flasks in different spots around the hut.

The door flew open moments later and Clint came in. "I was out in the woods after dinner, sorry." He strode across the room, depositing a small axe and his sturdiest boots in a back corner.

"What was it today, lumberjack?" Jeff asked amusedly, crossing his arms.

Clint paused, already halfway out the door again. "More workouts and I'm almost done with another chair."

He was gone only a few moments before Jeff turned to Cleo with disbelief. "Are y'all still serious about this? Do you really think it'll work?"

She laughed. "Who knows? It might be a long shot but I'm still hopin' we can pull it off. I told Clint to wait until after the next Greenie shows up in a few days to break it to Alby and Gally."

"Well just lemme know when I'm supposed to start callin’ _you_ Keeper." The door slapped closed behind him as he went to join the rest of the Gladers.

Cleo tossed a cluster of curls over her shoulder and dismissed the rumble of her half-empty stomach. She honestly had no idea whether or not the plan that Clint had thrown at her was gonna work.

If it did, and all Clint's sneaking around and working out in the forest paid off, then he would become a builder and leave Cleo in charge as Keeper of the med-jacks. Apparently that job had taken its toll on Clint or some mushy klunk like that. Jeff had no interest in the leadership and had little faith in the plan at all. It was a secret that had yet to leave their hut and wouldn't until it seemed like their heads wouldn't get ripped off.

Fat chance with Gally involved.

But the prospect of change pushed Cleo's blood a little faster through her veins, and she wouldn't back down from a challenge any sooner than Frypan would let food go to waste.

A dull knock on the wooden door startled her. She didn't have time to wonder what shank even took the time to knock anymore before it swung open to reveal Newt, a lantern in one hand illuminating the pair of cookies in the other.

"Frypan set 'em out as free-for-alls again and I was just fast enough," he said smugly.

Newt was one of the notable sweet-tooths in the Glade along with Cleo, and they always made sure to look out for each other when Frypan put the Creators' gift of sugar to good use.

She took an appreciative bite and rolled the confection around in her mouth. "My hero."

"And that's enough work for today, alright? Come on out."

Following him without a second thought, Cleo emerged into the night. The pair plopped down in sync when they reached the typical night crew under a few torches in the meadow. It was peaceful and pleasant and almost pretty, if not for the Great Walls of _shuck the Creators_.

Newt bumped his boot to Cleo's and cocked an eyebrow. "Heard you were a bit last minute with some pain meds this evening."

"Is nothing sacred?" she groaned. "Were you literally just watchin' the tomatoes grow and needed somethin' else to think about?"

"Well Minho can't be the only bloody source of gossip racing around here."

That quip earned him a clump of dirt to the shoulder from Minho himself, who followed with, "Slim it. Your shank selves are just in love with me."

"Big talk for someone who seems to only love his own two legs," Cleo tossed back.

Giggles and snorts passed around and Cleo was giving a triumphant wave when retaliation struck.

"Least I've got somethin' better to love than some dumb flowers."

A chorus of _oohs_ rang out and Cleo could only shrug it off. It was too late at night and the air was too cool to let her get riled up over some teasing, so she just stuck her tongue out at Newt as he laughed. 

He sobered as his eyes rested on hers a moment too long, something that happened more often than not. Cleo cleared her throat and took it upon herself to reroute the conversation, even though she wouldn’t mind gazing at him for awhile.

"Bet you three biscuits it'll be builders I have to use the passionflower on next time."

"I'll bite," Newt retorted with a gleam in his eye. "Slicers."

Frypan rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Oh alright! We got ourselves some real gamblers. I'll have an extra batch on standby."

"Can I bet in with runners?" Minho piped up, high-fiving those beside him.

"You'd trip up Ben just to win some extra food," Cleo accused, "and that ain't fair."

He leveled a smirk at her. "Didn't I see Newt sneakin' dessert away for you? You're over there callin' unfair when you didn't even have to fight for the cookies."

"Shuck off, mate." Newt leaned into his accent and met Cleo's fistbump easily. "Did I hurt your feelings by not bringin' you a damn picnic?"

"Maybe."

Everyone's cackling echoed late into the night, drowning out the dread in their chests with each metallic creak from the maze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brownie points if you can guess what historical figures the three girls were named after :)


	3. Knock Your Socks Off

The blaring of the horn ricocheted back and forth between the Glade's stone walls, shattering Cleo's concentration on the gauze wrap in front of her. She pressed a strong palm over the wound and snapped her head toward Clint.

"Alright, cover for me. I wanna see the new Greenie."

With her pressure on the slicer's arm replaced by Clint's hand, Cleo was free to dash out of the hut. Most of the other Gladers were already swarming to the box and Cleo dodged a swinging rake to run behind Zart, nearly slamming into him when the group came to a halt.

Anticipation buzzed under the afternoon sun as the alarm cut off and the box whirred to a stop. But another sound picked up, coming from inside the box. It first sounded like a goat's bleating, but the wail was soon identified as coming from the new Greenie himself.

Pushing to the front of the circle, Cleo heard Gally mutter irritably before hopping down to undo the elevator's fencing. There was something to be said for welcoming a new face into their world, blank stares and anger and all, and Cleo had yet to miss an arrival since her own.

The constant howling halted as soon as the box was opened and was replaced by yells of, "Go away! Leave me alone!"

The new Greenie had drawn the short stick for stature. Small and tubby, he was cowering in the corner by the new batch of fertilizer. Dark locks curled just in front of his eyes and he was red-faced from all the shouting.

"Great punching-bag size," Minho quipped, earning a laugh from a few around him. Cleo was inclined to agree if the Greenie didn't shut up.

On cue, the kid took a deep breath to begin yelling again, but Alby cut him off. "Green bean! Hold off, you're fine." With Gally's help, they hauled him up and out onto the dirt, where he sat with his head on his knees in dead silence.

"Thought you'd never shut up," came the first taunt.

"C'mon Greenie, look alive!"

Jeff piped up from beside Cleo. "Can't put you to work tucked up like that!"

It wasn't long until the kid started wailing again and Alby called off the heckling. A couple builders tried to haul the boy up and toward the slammer for safekeeping, but he started struggling like a fish hitting air.

"Hey! Careful." Cleo called when she saw his arm being twisted awkwardly. "I don't wanna have to fix him before he even gets to eat."

The kid looked up at the sound of her voice, mesmerized at the first girl he'd caught sight of. The pause in his squirming was enough to haul him away without further fighting.

Alby's voice was suddenly at Cleo's side. "Alright, so girls calm him. Probably thinks you won't rough him up."

"And that's only 'cause I'd be the one puttin' him back together right after," she scoffed. "The shank should stop with the yelling or I wouldn't be the only one stuffin' his throat."

"The point is, he'll be more open to being shown around if you're there." He paused for her expected outburst, and it came as sure as sunshine.

"What? Alby, _c'mon_." A breeze tufted the ends of her braid against her back as her arms fell open pleadingly. "Don't you think Eliza could handle ‘show and tell’ a little better?"

Eliza herself spoke up. "From the looks of it he could hurt himself any minute and I think you should be there for that."

Cleo dragged her eyes toward the slammer where it stood at the edge of the woods, and where the Greenie sat wiping his runny nose behind those bamboo bars.

"Alright. You’re the boss."

Alby turned toward the box, giving Gally a hand with the first few crates of supplies. "And I'm gonna be helpin' the builders with their new stacks of wood, so Newt will take the lead on the Greenie's orientation. Unless you wanna fly solo?"

"She won't be takin' a chance of that, Alby." Newt strolled up and stole the words from Cleo's mouth. Sunlight outlined the ends of his messy hair with pure gold. He nodded toward the slammer and they fell in step in the dry grass.

But Cleo couldn’t keep quiet for long. "What if he's just a perv? I didn’t like him being starstruck when he saw us two girls." She was far from scared, but wasn’t in the mood for Greenie antics.

"You don't think you could take the shank if he tried somethin'?" Newt's grin was bursting with reassurance. "Besides, he's had a few minutes to calm down. Maybe we scared him enough."

Sure enough, the Greenie cowered against the back wall of the pit when Cleo and Newt approached and leaned on the front bars.

"Please, I think my name's Chuck, but I didn't do anything. Just don't hurt me!"

Cleo glanced over to Newt's raised eyebrows and they held back laughter. "Look, kid. Chuck. Nobody's gonna hurt you. You'll learn that's one of our rules."

Newt picked up the tag-team. "Do you remember anything, Chuckie? Your name's a real good start, but have you got anything else?"

A gnat nipped at Cleo's forearm and she brushed it away with a mindless swoop. Asking Greenies for any new memories seemed more and more pointless each time, but the hope of gleaning any new helpful information outweighed it by far. But this time was the same as all the others – Chuck had no memories except his name and was more interested in learning about his surroundings.

"Well Chuck, I'm Newt and that's Cleo. Welcome to the Glade."

"Are ya about ready to get outta there?" Cleo was ready to show this kid around. They tugged him out by an arm each and watched as he took it all in.

Newt led them toward his own home turf first, shooting Cleo a smile over Chuck’s head as he trotted along between them.

"Those are the gardens. If you wanna eat, don't mess 'em up." Newt’s pointed finger fanned over rows of planted seeds, chest-high crops, and columns of vines tied to arbors.

Winston paused his work when the trio stopped in front of the slicer hut. He wiped fresh blood off his machete and gloated over Chuck's widened eyes before asking, "We still callin' you Greenie, right?"

"Actually I, uh, my name is Chuck."

"Whoa! Kid's already got his name." Winston's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Y'know, Chuck, it's _Cleo_ here that holds the record for longest time without remembering her name."

She cleared her throat, trying to stop him from telling his favorite story. "C'mon, we don't have all day for this."

"And do ya wanna know how she finally remembered it?” he continued. “Eight days in, she and Gally had way too much of his drink and that night we could hear –"

"Hey!" Cleo’s open hand landed harshly on Winston’s shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I tell you with _every_ Greenie, Winston, that they don't need any stories on day one."

The sex wasn't even that good, how could it be? She and Gally barely knew each other and being that drunk wasn't exactly romantic. It just so happened that when the strapping builder asked if she had a name to go with that pretty ass, it came rolling off her tongue as easily as slipping off her shirt.

All was forgiven, but only memories from before the Glade could be wiped. Everyone eventually figured out what happened but Cleo and Gally agreed that it meant nothing. Though she'd yet to have a decent conversation with him since.

Newt finally broke into a wide smile, drawing Cleo out of her defensive haze and back into the glowing heat of the afternoon.

"Winston, if you waste all your bloody rambling on day one, what's the Greenie to look forward to for the rest of the month?"

The slicer waved them off with mumbles about slintheads, and Cleo felt Newt's fingertips graze the small of her back as he steered her and Chuck to face the kitchen and Frypan's delicious food.

***

"Light 'em up, y'all!"

Cleo stretched her arm back, careful not to catch the ends of her loose curls on fire before she hurled the flaming spear into the pyre. A cheer tore open the muggy night as sparks turned to flames that licked all the way around the bonfire until they illuminated each pair of shining eyes and triumphant fist pumps.

Slick condensation coated Cleo's palm as Jeff came up and shoved a drink at her. "I made Clint be on call tonight, since it's probably his last bonfire as a med-jack." His failed attempt at a whisper gave away how tipsy he already was.

"You mind _not_ tellin' everyone about it yet?" Cleo couldn't keep a stern face at him, so she lightly shoved him away. "But thanks anyway."

She'd come a long way from being a lightweight with Gally's drink and so had no problem downing a few jarfuls. When the first round finished scratching down her throat, Cleo bumped and jostled her way through the crowd in search of another.

It was a comfortable night, with tension falling away from shoulders and laughter ringing out left and right. Even the shadowed treeline seemed to melt into nothing more than dark curtains at a party.

At least the maze couldn't steal every ounce of happiness from them.

"You did good with Chuck today." Eliza was perched near the drink bench with a warm smile. "He seems to be finding his way around."

Cleo grabbed a new jar and _clinked_ it against Eliza’s. "Well, he did get the klunk scared out of him a few times. Newt’s better at keeping Greenies calm than I am, you should probably thank him.”

"What, you didn't leave the kid relaxed?"

"Not when I accidentally showed him the med-jacks’ knife collection," Cleo drawled and Eliza just shook her head.

Cleo made more rounds among the Gladers and finally landed by the impressive layout of food, where Frypan was waiting with a few good stories to tell. She listened intently between bites and laughing about the nonsense of all the usual shanks. There was a slicer to her left, adding details and gestures to the story with an arm tattooed all the way to his wrist.

More of Cleo’s ink was on display, too – her cutoff shorts landed above the outlines of mountains on her thighs. She absentmindedly scratched at the tattoos, having long since given up wondering why she got them. That was all before the Glade.

As Frypan's story trickled to an end, an arm abruptly locked around Cleo's shoulders and nearly toppled her drink when swinging her away from the food.

"Who's about to get their _shucking_ …oh. I shoulda known." Cleo peered sideways at Newt’s dark eyes and he flashed a cheeky grin in return.

He left his arm wrapped around her like he always did, even though he wasn’t drunk. Everyone got more touchy-feely at bonfires as more drinks were poured and the night wore on.

"How are you?"

"I was doing fine minglin' on my own until you swooped in." Cleo teased.

"And here I was thinking you were better off in my company." Newt shrugged. "Isn't mingling supposed to be movin' around to different people anyway?"

"So that gives you the right to steal the company you want?" She beamed at him, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "But really, I'm doing fine."

The banter between them cleared its own path through the thick night and Newt's limp was barely noticeable as they made their way around the bonfire. Suddenly, their attention snapped toward a yell from the wrestling circle.

With Newt close at her side, Cleo pushed over to the group and found Gally grappling with one of his builders. Gally was actually the one shouting because he was in a headlock, but it wasn't long before the other boy was shoved clear outside of the dirt boundary.

"Who's next?" Gally challenged.

Arnie stepped forward and soon they were scuffling in the dirt while onlookers snickered and jeered. Newt's shoulder was warm as it rested against Cleo's, a column of support for them both against the jostling crowd.

At a lull in the fight, Cleo focused back on the boy next to her. Newt’s fingers traced his jaw, his eyes fixed forward as he was lost in thought. The thoughts must've hit a brick wall because he blinked them away and turned to catch Cleo's gaze.

"What, you sizing me up to throw me out there?"

Cleo shrugged but as she opened her mouth to fire back, Gally called out for another contender. Chuck all but bounced into the makeshift ring, holding his hand up like a schoolchild.

"Pick me! I'll try!"

Gally's eyes narrowed keenly before Alby spoke up and stepped in the way. "Not a chance, not like this. But I'm not gonna deny the Greenie a shot, just maybe not with this tough guy." He let the ripple of laughter settle before his proposition. "So, anybody wanna take on Chuck?"

Newt elbowed Cleo's ribs with a devilish expression. "C'mon Cleo, I think _you_ should have a go."

Cleo knew it was a joke. Frypan, however, thought it was a great idea.

"Yeah, let's let Cleo do it!"

The idea caught fire and soon her name was being cheered like she was the champion in a boxing movie. She stepped confidently inside the circle to accept the challenge, even if the reason they wanted her was that she wouldn't be as hardcore as Gally.

A brief glance back showed Newt's eyes gleaming at her, proud and laughing at the situation he'd gotten her into.

"Look, Greenie, I ain't even gonna pull my hair up. Give me your best shot," she coached Chuck over the applause and hollers of the other boys. "You know how this works?"

His excited nod sent his short curls bouncing. "I'm game!"

The two circled each other, shadows from the firelight dancing in angles around their faces. A sheen of sweat sprang up on Cleo's skin and she used the sleeve of her tattered shirt to pat at the back of her neck.

Eventually she stopped and planted her boots firmly in the dirt, preparing to catch his short shoulders when he charged at her. Chuck did just that, legs pumping and letting loose a short war cry as he ran closer and closer.

And _clocked_ her square on the cheek.

It wasn't a good punch, really. His fist was angled awkwardly and his thumb was tucked on the inside. But _holy hell_ the kid pulled strength from somewhere ‘cause it hurt all the same.

The world slowed a bit so Cleo squeezed her eyes shut to stop it from moving at all. The throbbing seeped all the way into her temple and she could only pray that the punch didn’t fracture anything. It was gonna be to hell with the Greenie if he messed up her face.

There had been a collective cry when the blow landed and by the time Cleo opened her eyes a few of the boys had dragged Chuck back a few feet. A hand splayed itself between her shoulder blades and what was probably Alby's voice spoke in her ear.

"Cleo? Can you hear me?" And then more sternly to the crowd, "Hey, where are my med-jacks!"

Jeff got to her first, lips pressed in a concerned line as he gingerly tilted her head to the side and examined the bruise. "I told you I wasn't on call and you decide to get yourself hurt?"

A small smile tugged at her mouth, stretching the skin on her injured cheek with only the faintest sting. Cleo was thankful for his jokes and that he knew she wanted those at a moment like this.

"Yeah, really my fault on this one. But I'm fine, okay?" She gently pushed him away with promises to ice it and watch for swelling or bleeding and all the things he'd apparently forgotten that she knew how to do.

Chuck was still being held prisoner when Cleo saw him again. All she had to do was take one lunging step and he ran screaming toward the homestead, taunts and laughs in his wake.

"I don't think you have to punish the kid, Alby," she said to the leader still positioned next to her. "He's probably scared enough of me as it is."

He nodded firmly as Eliza sidled up next to him. "I agree, but that doesn't mean a stern talk won't do any good. The slammer looks pretty handy, too."

The order for bedtime came next and the crowd slowly thinned out in favor of the homestead. Cleo didn't have the chance to take a few steps before Newt was whisking her to the side for the second time that night.

"Hey, you alright?" Guilt shadowed his eyes and he was gnawing at his bottom lip.

She patted his face sympathetically. "Haven't you already asked me that tonight?"

"Leave your fun and games with Jeff, please."

"Look, apology accepted, okay? Even though there's nothin' to be sorry about." Cleo was careful to not snap too hard. "Better me than Gally or someone who would pummel the Greenie for even a missed swing. And I'm a tough girl, you know that. I have my own bottle of passionflower and everything."

The negativity gripping him drained away and left a relaxed smile in its place. "So the next time the two of us have to play mum and dad with a Greenie, it's my turn to let him slug me?"

"Shuckin' right."

The torch nearby faded to embers as she slung an arm comfortably around him to guide them toward the homestead. Before he let them part ways, however, Newt stopped her again.

"You wake me up if somethin' hurts," he urged softly. "I wanna know."

Maybe it was the late hour or the dull pain in her cheek, or something else entirely, but Cleo found herself tenderly gripping his hand. "I promise. Thanks, Newt."


	4. Jumping the Gun

Holy _shuck_. This definitely wasn't how Cleo envisioned the morning going.

Clint had never been very good at timing. Maybe his jokes were alright, but just last week he'd skipped out on helping birth a baby goat to go work out in the woods again. This left Cleo in charge of the miracle of life, which she found much different than stitching up a wound.

She was too busy gagging afterwards to skin Clint alive.

Which is why when Jeff came bounding into the med-jack hut panting about how _"Clint did it, he told them,"_ Cleo was considering that flaying idea again.

"Who did he tell, Jeff?"

The boy's chest heaved again, a runner he was not. "I think he only tried for Alby at first, but Gally heard the word builder and butted in."

Cleo picked at a handful of gauze as she asked, "So what's happening now? Anyone rioting yet?"

"Dunno. I just came to tell ya that whatever's gonna happen with your master plan is happening today."

Jeff had just taken a seat across the room when Cleo bolted up and dusted herself off, touching a hand to the faded bruise on her cheek. "Well I'm gonna see what's going on out there before they make any decisions without me."

There was no time to make good on her declaration, however, before the door swung open and Newt leaned in against the doorframe. He laughed before he even spoke, shaking his head free of some disbelief.

"A council meeting has been called and I've been sent to get both of you. But you," he swung his finger at Cleo, "you're the one in the hotseat."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I’m ready for it."

"This better not be draggin' me into the trouble, too," Jeff huffed.

"Hey, you already declined from taking over in this switch. I'm thinkin' it's all gonna fall on me and Clint."

Newt interrupted their argument. "Oh and Cleo, Gally demanded something about you bringing a stool that Clint built."

She smirked at him and muttered under her breath, "It's like we're going to a shuckin' courtroom."

With the sturdy wooden seat tucked under her arm, Cleo ushered herself and Jeff out into the daybreak. Dew like mud stuck to their shoes and eyelashes and even Newt's hair got a little fluffier.

"So Clint just up and decided he didn't want to be a med-jack?" Newt's tongue snaked out to punctuate the question leaving his lips.

Cleo hummed in agreement. "Apparently. Some mid-life crisis."

"And what, he figured Gally was a good boss as any?"

"Are they gonna focus on the past or what's ahead?" Cleo shot back, a small but unwelcome bundle of nerves tightening her chest. "Cause I'm hopin' that me becoming Keeper is on the agenda, too."

Newt swiveled on his good leg to walk backwards and face her. "Look, Cleo, I'm just tryin' to understand ‘cause this is the first I've heard of any of it. I'm not doubting you at all."

She nodded her thanks but didn’t get her hopes up over his vote of confidence. The rickety wooden meeting hall loomed in front of them and she set her face in stone to not let any nerves show.

The door creaked closed behind them to effectively isolate the boys from the men, if you could call anyone in the Glade a real man. The people waiting inside were a crew that Cleo knew well, though she couldn't tell if that was a comfort or a concern. Instead she focused on finding an empty beam to lean against.

"So who's gonna give the rundown on whatever the hell this is?" Alby broke the silence.

Clint and Cleo shared a nod before he spoke. "The short version? I'm tired of being a med-jack and so want to become a builder. We'd be leaving Cleo as Keeper."

Gally's arms were crossed ironclad against his chest and his wild eyebrows were knitted. "Anything we'd be missin' in the long version?"

"All the training and prep that's been done!" Cleo couldn't help the defense flying out of her mouth. "Clint's been workin' out in the woods for weeks now and Jeff and I have taken care of most of all the medical work."

There was a sense of secrecy and insubordination to their actions, Cleo knew full well. It's what was bothering Alby and everyone else. So she fought through it, willing it to not cloud their minds so far that her hopes for change amounted to nothing.

"Look, I swear Clint's good at it, and –"

"Let's see the handiwork then." Gally's hand was held out, a greedy palm demanding ransom.

Cleo handed him the stool and watched as he scrutinized the screws and the sanding and all the other random stuff Clint had been talking about for weeks. Without looking up from the inspection, Gally tossed another question at Clint.

"Why'd you wanna stop the med-jack stuff?"

Clint dragged a hand down his face. "I'm tired of it, man, the stuff we gotta see and –"

"You can't just get tired of doing your job." Gally always played devil’s advocate and it always annoyed Cleo to no end.

Apparently Newt felt the same. "Are you gonna bloody let him finish?" His hand rested on the leather strap taut against his chest and he ushered on Clint with a firm nod.

"Look," Clint began again, sweeping a gaze at the row of other Keepers on the closest curved bench, "you don't know what it's like to have someone injured or die on your watch. It can really take a lot out of ya and I don't wanna see it anymore."

Cleo clenched her jaw as she felt a few glances turn and study her, no doubt wondering if she would soon be affected the same way. 

A deep sigh hissed out of Gally and he faced Alby with wide, defeated arms. "It's on you for this. Explaining to everyone why we're suddenly goin' haywire with who works where is gonna mess with the order we've got."

"Let's give Clint a test drive for a week or so with you," Alby placated, "but I think it'll be a good fit."

Clint nodded, relief showering his features because his end of the deal was sealed. On the flip side, Cleo's nerves were rushing toward the sheer drop of a cliff as the next conversation rounded over to her.

"So now that I've got Clint the builder," it was Gally again, spearheading the hostility, "we're just gonna let them choose their own med-jack Keeper? Is nothing sacred about how the council is supposed to have the last say?"

"Lay off, Gally." Newt stepped to where he could be directly across the room from Cleo and shot her a knowing gaze. "This whole thing has made a mess of our order but I think Alby will agree that we can still do our deciding now."

Minho finally looked up after finishing the mass of breakfast he'd hauled in. "Hasn't she basically been running it like a Keeper already?"

"But Keepers have more responsibility, her vote would count for something in the council." Zart spoke up, avoiding eye contact with both Minho and Cleo.

Back and forth it went with the remaining Keepers as if Cleo had petals with ‘Loves Me, Loves Me Not’ waiting to be plucked off. _Can she, can't she, is it right to do this, what about the order_. Always about the shucking _order_. It was great for keeping them from fighting and starving, but when it came time for change the order stood in the way.

Cleo's leg bounced nervously. The waiting and second-guessing gnawed at her while the doubts swirled. How could they be taking this long? Was it her ability, her attitudes? An invisible seniority barrier? Or god forbid, the fact that she wasn’t male?

Cleo slammed her palm into the bench and the voices froze.

"What's with this? Think I can't be a Keeper 'cause I'm a _girl_? Bunch of sexist slintheads. Didn't I make the best damn drug we've got? I'll bet y'all think –"

"Cleo!" Newt's voice iced her words in their path. "Slim it good and tight."

With eyes still trained on Newt, Cleo screwed her jaw shut and twisted a finger around a loose thread of her shirt. Her reckless outburst was suddenly embarrassing.

Newt continued, tone still hardened but gaze softer. "This isn't about you being a girl and for sure not your abilities. Shuck, you're one of the best workers we've got. Just let us finish, alright?"

The deliberations thankfully didn't take much longer, though Cleo still paced for their duration until Alby's deep voice called to her.

"If you're done with the marching," he quirked a smile, "I'll have time to tell ya that yeah, you're good to go. The vote was in your favor, Keeper."

A grin tugged Cleo's mouth wide and Jeff slapped his congratulations against her shoulder. More responsibility dawned on her horizon and she couldn't be more ready.

"Thanks, guys. And I s'pose I should say sorry."

Alby waved her off. "We've got a few hotheads already, one more won't hurt."

***

Cleo sought out Newt after the gathering held later that afternoon. The rest of the boys had been filled in and Eliza was ecstatic for the newest Keeper, though the majority of the Gladers were unaffected by the new decisions and gave no more than a thumbs up.

She caught him en route to the gardens to finish up the day’s work. He slowed his long stride to acknowledge her with a smirk.

"Now don't get in your head that you can take over my position just ‘cause you've moved up in the ranks once, okay?"

"Oh c'mon," she drawled as a breeze blew by to cool their sweat-dotted necks, "you don’t think they were ready to hand me a crown in there? Make me queen of the Glade?"

"Not when I was the one savin' your arse," he laughed.

"Yeah, I wanted to say thanks for that, by the way. And the compliments were a nice trick for shuttin' me up."

An infectious smile lit from his eyes to his mouth. "See? Told you I didn't doubt ya."

Jeff's voice cut clear across the meadow through the conversation. "Hey Keeper-lady! You mind helpin' me close up shop for the day?"

Newt gave a swift goodbye and Cleo dashed to her hut, a flurry of dust and sunshine in her wake. The suture thread had twisted itself into a handful of nasty knots that Jeff handed her when she stepped inside, and she tossed back a dry, "Thanks".

Jeff had just put away freshly cut bandages when he nonchalantly spoke to Cleo's turned back. "So, uh, you listened to Newt real quick today."

"We all live and talk in the same square mile every day, man. You're gonna have to be more specific."

"In council this morning, when –"

"When I was being a dramatic shank?" she cut in, turning around but keeping her eyes trained on the last stubborn knot. "Yeah, he was shuttin' me up before I blew my own chance."

Jeff shrugged. "Look, all I'm sayin' is that I can see you're comfortable with the guy. That's gotta be nice, right?"

Cleo slowly put down the thread. Having Jeff for a makeshift brother was cool, right up until he played matchmaking games.

"Alright, lay off, you're seeing stuff again." Cleo lazily brushed at the air between them in hopes of driving him off. He'd tried to set her up a few times before.

He shrugged again but kept a peculiar stare. "I don't know, he's a good guy. Maybe this time my psychic abilities will work."

"Have you psychically seen yet how I'm gonna shove my foot up your ass?"

"Just lemme know if this one works out. One of these days I'll get you set up nice and right."

Cleo was thankful when Jeff left her alone in the hut, but reorganizing a crate of oils as a distraction didn’t work. The feeling in her gut didn't go away.

The feeling that Jeff was right.

Newt was an easy and trustworthy friend and she'd noticed it, too – that her ears were tuned to listen to his voice in a crowd and she was most content when seated next to him on slow nights.

Whatever all that meant, she couldn't let it slow her down now. She focused back on the thrill of her new title and gazed proudly around the med-jack hut. Finally in charge, and it felt nice.


	5. Up in Arms

“Three, two, one... _go_!”

A rush of air. Newt lunged forward and from her perch on his shoulders, Cleo was thrust face-to-face with Winston. They grappled furiously, pushing and shoving and trying to knock each other off their partner’s shoulders. Zart was holding Winston up and he and Newt were probably doing plenty of trash talking — the best part of any game they concocted in the Glade.

But Cleo was too busy fighting off Winston to hear any insults. They were evenly matched in strength but she got too zealous about the game, as per usual. A good smack to his left arm nearly toppled him and in the split second she took to fist-pump in celebration, he swooped in and shoved her square in the chest. 

She landed in the dirt with a grunt that was drowned out by a chorus of _oohs_. 

The wind picked up and blew the bonfire brighter, illuminating the row of spectators with wide smiles and half-empty jars. There wasn’t even supposed to be a bonfire tonight — they were usually saved for Greenies’ first days or other celebrations. But one of the builders knocked over a shack they were working on and created a lot of extra wood, so Alby figured they might as well use it.

Rolling to a sitting position, Cleo barely caught her breath before Newt was offering a hand to help her up. His words, however, weren’t as kind.

“You shoulda had him, Cleo.”

“I was tryin’, shuckface!” She flashed a wry grin, still ready to rile things up. “Maybe you shoulda given me better leverage.”

“Leverage, my arse,” he accused, but the smirk playing on his lips softened the blow. “I had you good and tight. Bet I could do better up there anyway.”

_That_ was the trigger. Cleo had considered taking a snack break after that last round, but the pinprick of a challenge couldn’t be left alone. And especially not when she spotted the perfect opportunity: Jeff squatting down to talk to a few boys. 

“Jeff, don’t move!” she called. 

“Oh hell, what’s she gonna do to me?”

With a running start, Cleo leapt onto Jeff’s shoulders and steered him toward the circle of dirt cleared for the competition. Her muscles ached from the balancing act but she could care less.

“If you can do so much better, Newt,” Cleo hollered and held her arms wide, “then _prove_ it.”

Pride tingled up her spine as she watched the crowd waiting with bated breath. Newt turned, his head cocked as he gazed up at her and lazily crossed his arms. Egging him on came as easy as the breeze and Newt wasn’t surprised by her outburst. His eyes squinted playfully and Cleo felt a _pang_ in her chest. 

“Don’t know if I have anything to prove.” But suddenly Newt was thrust into the air and sat at eye-level with Cleo. “Minho, what the bloody hell are you doing?” he spat. 

Minho shrugged as best he could with Newt now balanced on his shoulders. “Helpin’ you out, man. You gotta rise to the challenge.”

“Well I’ve shucking risen now, haven’t I.”

Jeers erupted from the circle of spectators, all eager for the fighting to begin. Frypan lined the two pairs up at an even distance and backed away slowly, his hands bracing the air as if that could stop the impending chaos. He counted down again and a rush of adrenaline gripped Cleo’s every nerve.

She and Newt collided with wild cries and he got the immediate upper hand by grabbing her wrists. Cleo struggled, breathless laughter pouring out, and finally tore away when Jeff took a step back.

“Givin’ up already?” Minho taunted.

Newt shook his head knowingly. “They would never.”

Jeff reached a quick hand up and high-fived Cleo before charging back in. _Block, shove, pull, jab_ — the rest of the scuffle was a blur of limbs and smiles and the goading from the crowd only made them fight harder. Cleo grunted and twisted to the left, leaving open a weak spot that Newt could use to go in for the kill.

Or so he thought.

He dove forward and in a flash Cleo whipped back around and shoved him sideways, toppling him off Minho’s shoulders. Dirt _poofed_ out around Newt as he landed, clinging to his white shirt and Minho’s dark pants. One glance up let Cleo know that he wasn’t hurt and she beamed down at him while waving proudly to the crowd.

Jeff squatted and unceremoniously pushed her off his shoulders. “You fight hard, Cleo. I’m shuckin’ tired.”

“Hard?” Newt piped up, brushing himself off and watching as she sauntered toward him. “She plays _dirty_. That last move coulda really hurt.”

“You’re just mad I beat you.” 

Alby walked between them just then, cutting off the banter and swinging an arm wide to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright. That’s enough roughhousing for tonight.” He shot a pointed look at Cleo that she shrugged away, but she was grateful that he let her have her fun when she needed to. Alby continued by clapping his hand on Newt’s shoulder, “You’re on for cleaning duty. Maybe you can rope in a few other shanks to help.”

“That was the plan, Alby,” the second-in-command quipped, tugging at the leather strap across his chest.

The Gladers slowly filed toward the homestead, leaving the dying bonfire crackling and plenty of dishes strewn about. Newt was perched on the table of drinks, pensively watching the line of stragglers, but his gaze snapped into focus when Cleo approached.

“Didn’t think I was gonna let you do this by yourself, hm?” she drawled.

“You owe me after that last fight anyway.” He hopped down with a huff and held out a rag. A smile graced her lips as she took it, especially when his fingers closed around hers and he added, “But thanks.”

The bonfire was stoked to give them a few more minutes of light and they cleared away jars and plates with a few _clangs_. The rowdy group could leave such a shucking mess but Newt and Cleo were quick on their feet, moving around each other and tossing things into place with ease. The smoke blustered back and forth with a gust of wind and Cleo bent down to avoid it. That’s when a larger jar under a bench caught the glint of firelight — Gally’s extra stash of moonshine. 

She held it up over her head, a prize to be flaunted. “You want in?”

Newt turned from putting the last table back in place and his face twisted with amusement. “Think you can just take things now that you’re a Keeper?”

“Maybe.”

“Well I’m no snitch. Open it up.”

The massive log near the bonfire had always served the Gladers well. Sitting on one side kept you close enough to the flames to be warm while the view from the other side was the best in the whole Glade for stargazing. Cleo leaned against the latter, settling her shoulder blades against the wood before swiping the lid off the jar with a _pop_.

It was a fresher, tangier batch of Gally’s drink. The sharpness seized in the back of Cleo’s throat and she made a face as Newt sank next to her with a laugh, his arm resting against hers.

“It’s the good stuff,” she rasped.

“Then pass it here.”

They sat in comfortable silence for awhile, taking swigs back and forth and enjoying the symphony of insects singing in the night. It was easy to forget the realities of their situation on nights like this, especially when there were other things to focus on — the sharp drink, the glittering stars, the way Cleo shifted to rest her thigh against Newt’s — the bad things were easy to forget until the maze creaked with a dull and ominous echo.

Cleo felt distant, her mind wandering out past the walls on the horizon. “What if there are other Glades? Other mazes around?”

“For their sake I hope not,” Newt mused.

“But what if there are? Do their mazes connect to ours? Would we have to fight them?”

“That’s up to the runners to not be hostile, love.”

“ _Love_ ,” she mocked. “Are you patronizing me?”

His brows quickly knit together and he leaned forward to catch her gaze. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”

The sincerity in his voice startled her. She watched him, blinking slowly, before giving a smile and reassuring squeeze to his arm as he leaned back again. The bonfire had finally died down to embers, leaving them with just the dimmest light. Just enough for Cleo to study Newt out of the corner of her eye while his voice echoed in her mind. _Love_. 

For once it wasn’t a dig, wasn’t a dare, wasn’t a way to mess with her in the way he knew she adored. 

He was just calling her that. A term of endearment. 

She bit back a smile.

The exhaustion of the day started dragging at both of them, loosening muscles and weighing on their minds. After only a moment’s consideration, Cleo leaned into Newt and he lifted his arm to stretch it along the back of the log, letting her sink further into his warm side. They’d been this close before — hugs, piggyback rides, whatever the hell that game was earlier — but this felt deeper. More intimate. And yet all so natural.

“Do you ever miss it?” Cleo ventured, voice soft. “Running in the maze.”

Every inch of his body stiffened. She knew it was a touchy subject — getting chased by a Griever must’ve been terrifying. But instead of clamming up like she expected, Newt’s shoulders slumped and something in him opened, a sliver for her to peek in.

“Not really, no.” He scratched at his jaw. “Easier to forget about the whole thing when I’m in here and not running through it.”

“Lucky break then, hurtin’ your leg in that Griever chase.”

The silence that hung in the air was scathing and she could sense something was wrong. Newt tensed up even further, his stare boring out into the darkness of the Glade. She turned to him, taking in his worried profile as he refused to meet her gaze.

“Cleo...it wasn’t a Griever.”

“What?”

A pause. A deep sigh. 

“I couldn’t stand it anymore. The Glade, the maze, the whole _shucking_ thing. I hated it all so much.” The sliver widened and everything started spilling out. “So I decided to do the one thing the Creators couldn’t control. One morning in the maze I climbed the vines to the top of a wall and I jumped. I _jumped off_ , and I survived. Messed up my leg and all.”

Cleo couldn’t breathe.

“Newt...”

“You couldn’t know. I only told Alby and Minho.”

She shook her head, still trying to process everything. “Still, I’m sorry. For bringin’ it up, for joking about—”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But _still_.” Her hand snaked over to his arm, squeezing until he finally turned to look at her. But under the weight of his dark eyes holding all that history, she faltered and glanced away. “It’s just... shucking awful. And I’m sorry.”

The humid night felt more suffocating than normal. They basked in it, in the ugly truth of how the maze could ruin lives. Cleo was still tucked into Newt’s side and it was his turn to reach out and bring her back into the moment by tracing fingers down her forearm.

“But I made it.” His voice was a little lighter. “They fixed up my leg best they could and we all carried on. You showed up a few months later...that was the first time I was really glad I survived.”

He trailed off but Cleo followed the thought all the same, her lips daring to twist in a small grin. “Is that so?”

“It was nice of the Creators to send up someone with half a brain, that’s all.”

The smile in his voice was evident and she swiveled toward him, wanting to see it for herself. He was suddenly close, breathtakingly so, and Cleo didn’t dare shy away. His golden hair and curved lips were bathed in moonlight and she openly admired them. But then the moment stretched on a beat too long and she got impatient.

“Are you gonna kiss me?”

Newt chuckled, thoughtfully tracing his lips. “I should. I’ve heard some of the guys placing bets on it.”

_What_.

“What?!”

He explained it as smoothly as describing the weather. “Winston and some of the builders don’t think it’ll happen for awhile. Jeff says sooner.”

Cleo leaned back with a groan and ran a heavy hand down her face. “Bunch of shuckfaces.” 

Of _course_ they’d pull some stunt like betting on this. There would be hell to raise tomorrow. But for now...for now, she’d take the dare. Her heart was thundering but she refused to second-guess herself. 

“Well,” she offered, still holding Newt’s rapt attention, “let’s see what all the buzz is about.”

Pure _bliss_ , that’s what it was about. Their bright smiles threatened to split the kiss in two but this was too long overdue to stop now. His mouth molded perfectly to hers, meeting fire with fire as sparks erupted in her chest. She leaned in closer, relishing in how his hand tucked perfectly into her hair, and kissed him again and again. 

And then all at once she was straddling him, a hum of contentment slipping out when his warm lips pressed to her jaw as she settled on his lap. Their foreheads rested together for a moment — breath mingling, chests heaving, basking in mutual affection.

“Wow...” Newt murmured. 

Cleo’s eyes crinkled. She toyed with the tendrils of hair at the base of his neck. “Tell me about it.”

He captured her mouth again, his grip landing on her hips in no time. Nibbling at his bottom lip was just for show but Cleo got the reaction she wanted. Newt groaned and crushed her closer, sneaking a cheeky grab to her ass that made her arch into him. Two can apparently play that game.

“Now we can’t — mm,” she began but was muffled by another sloppy kiss. “We can’t have the guys win their stupid little bet. ‘Specially not Jeff.”

“‘Course not.” 

“So we don’t tell anybody. At least for awhile, right?”

He cocked an eyebrow, always ready to tease. “Yeah, Cleo, I’ll just be your dirty little secret for now.”

She rolled her eyes while bracing against his chest to stand up. “That’s not what I meant and you _know it_.”

This wasn’t something bad to hide. Hell, it was the best shucking thing to happen to either of them between those four godforsaken walls. But gossip and the Gladers didn’t mix well, and Cleo wanted to preserve this little bit of goodness with Newt while they could. 

A shadow crossed over the log as Newt stood and Cleo stepped close, leisurely draping her arms over his shoulders. The tension crackled again when she curiously tilted her head. 

“Besides,” she whispered, “it’s not much of a _dirty_ little secret yet.”

Newt’s tongue prodded the inside of his cheek as he studied her feigned innocence. The patterns he was tracing onto her lower back were abandoned so he could cup her face for a playful peck. _We’ll get there_ , was left silently hanging in the air.

“Off to sleep then, Keeper. Can’t have anyone going for a midnight stroll and finding us. I’ll finish up out here.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“That _was_ a command.”

Cleo had taken a few steps toward the homestead but slowly turned with her hands on her hips, an incredulous smile splitting her lips. It never ended with them — one more jab, one last quip. Newt just smirked.

“You can be such a shank,” she finally offered, slinking away again. 

“Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not have been inspired by the time I made out with a guy and then immediately threatened him to not tell anybody, hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
